"What the fuck happened? This is getting ridiculous. I was gone for one bloody month and look what happens." Violet gestured expansively to the desolate pub, even late on a Friday night.

Jon shrugged. "Happy birthday, by the way. I was going to get you something, but the shop was clean out of dark idols and human hearts."

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered. "But seriously, what's going on? People are acting even more paranoid than usual. Is the Ministry cracking down or something?"

"No," Jon said slowly. "Something's going on, but it's not the Ministry's doing."

"What, then? Don't tell me someone escaped Azkaban again."

Jon scoffed. "No. Officially, nothing's going on, and if you only looked at Diagon, you might actually believe it. But," he said, motioning to the empty chairs, "something's clearly happened to spook enough people to convince the rest to lie low. What that might be, I don't know."

"Really?" Jon knew pretty much everything that went on in Knockturn Alley, his position as innkeeper allowing him privileged access to the softly whispered rumors of the Wizarding world. Being in the dark about a matter affecting all of Knockturn must have been driving him mad.

"Rumors," he spat. "Nothing more. Clearly, something is going on, something that's put the fear of Death in certain people in the know—Old Cobbe flat out left the country. But they're not talking, and the riffraff's caught on just enough to drive them mad with paranoia. Every two bit thug's convinced his demons are coming back to haunt him."

"Wonderful," Violet said dryly. "So it's even worse than when Sirius escaped. Remind me again why I shouldn't leave for another month?"

He laughed. "The country would probably be in flames when you got back." He poured himself a glass of Firewhisky and another for Violet. "People have been asking about you, you know. They're wondering why 'Valentina the Undefeatable' hasn't fought in over a month."

"Not true," Violet argued. "It just hasn't been on a dueling stage." She took a drink of the Firewhisky and coughed heavily. "That's disgusting."

"I know," Jon said happily. "Isn't it great?"

"Give me that," she said, snatching the bottle. The label was crudely handwritten, and she had to squint to make it out. "'Oogrod's Whiskee.'" She glared at him. "Is this actually brewed by Trolls?"

"Could be. Always thought it was just a marketing gimmick."

"Lovely." She pushed away her glass. "Anyway, I'm probably not going to be dueling much longer. There's not much point when you always win, and it doesn't exactly encourage the crowd to gamble heavily either. And I'm not exactly thrilled with how much attention I'm getting from it. Maybe I should have used a pseudonym."

Jon snorted. "A pseudonym of your pseudonym?"

"Exactly. Too late now, anyway. One last fight, and I'll be done. Ivan's got some sort of plan for how I can go out with a bang."

"Sounds good," said Jon. "Maybe that'll finally get people out of their funk and into my pub."

"Not as long as you're serving that trash, they won't," Violet muttered.

~#~

The world has gone mad, Sirius thought, and I have gone mad with it.

He could think of no other possible explanation for him to be sitting at his dining table on a perfectly good Friday night, listening to figures from his past, who he had generally disliked even then, argue in circles. He slunk further into his chair as Dedalus Diggle shouted at Hestia Jones, making some kind of point that required massive circular arm gestures. Sirius had stopped paying attention half an hour ago.

He met eyes with Mundungus Fletcher, a disheveled figure who looked every bit as bored with the proceedings as Sirius. He smirked, and jerked his head in a universal Can you believe them? gesture.

Sirius nodded rapidly. Yes, I bloody well can.

Dung slyly aimed his wand under the table. Suddenly, Diggle's chair began to raise into the air, his wild gesticulations vaguely reminiscent of a muggle helicopter's blades. Sirius tried not to burst into laughter. Good ol' Dung was one of the few people in the room he actually liked.

"If you are quite finished with your childish games," a silky voice said, "it would behoove us to discuss matters of relevance. For instance, the inexorable approach of open warfare."

His moment of revelry well and truly spoiled, Sirius glowered at the speaker. At times like this, it was difficult to remember why he had agreed to allow the Order of the Phoenix to use his home as a base of operations.

Ah, yes. That would be because Dumbledore is a conniving son of a bitch who neglected to mention the sheer frequency with which these meetings would occur and that Snivellus would be treated as a guest of honor.

Disgusting greasiness aside, Snivellus' grim words quelled the pointless bickering. Dumbledore smiled serenely, seemingly fixated on his slice of lemon trifle. Sirius contemplated leaving Grimmauld Place to the Order on a permanent basis. Violet had to be living somewhere, didn't she? Surely she would be sympathetic to his plight.

"I think the problem is that we have been over all matters of importance quite thoroughly already," said Arthur Weasley, ever the voice of reason.

Of course, because this was the Order of the Phoenix, even that statement was somehow extremely controversial, and the table descended into arguments once more.

Dumbledore finished his trifle. "Gentlemen and ladies," he said lightly. And, of course, that was all it took to bring the room to silence. Snivellus glared enviously, and Sirius snickered. "It is good to see such passion amongst you all. But we must remember that our greatest weapon against darkness is the bond of trust we share. Recall that everyone here is on the same side."

Suitably chastened, the Order exchanged guilty looks. Snivellus rolled his eyes, probably at Dumbledore's assertion that anything could be a better weapon than the Dark Arts.

"Kingsley, if you would?" asked Dumbledore, breaking the silence.

"Of course, Headmaster," the impeccably dressed man said, standing and nodding slightly. He had not said a word during the earlier arguments, nor shown the slightest sign of aggravation. "It seems that Fudge has chosen not to heed your warning. The Auror office has not been asked to prepare for an increase of illegal activity. It would seem," and here a note of slight distaste entered his voice, "that the Minister would prefer to pretend that the situation will resolve itself."

Dumbledore sighed. "That is unfortunate indeed, but not, alas, unexpected. Do what you can to determine whether any more of your coworkers would be amenable to working with us, but don't risk discovery. We cannot afford to draw the attention of the Ministry if Cornelius is indeed insisting on his unwise course."

Kingsley nodded and returned to his seat.

"Thank you, Kingsley," Dumbledore said. "Alastor, the situation in regards to Voldemort's recruitment?"

Sirius sneered as half the room flinched. Cowards. They wouldn't last long once the curses started flying, he knew. Which one of them will betray us, this time?

Moody stood. He had stormed out in disgust at the waffling earlier but had returned just in time for Dumbledore's intervention. "It's bad," he said bluntly. "Any fucker who thinks that this is some sort of game can visit Podmore in Mungo's. He got caught out by two Death Eaters he was following, barely escaped alive. As an aside, we need to stop using Mungo's. The Ministry's going to start asking questions if people keep showing up with obvious curse wounds."

He shook his scarred head, eye spinning eerily. "They're getting bolder, approaching powerful witches and wizards with offers of recruitment even if they don't have any known sympathies for the cause. There are a lot of powerful, dangerousfigures out there, the type that don't often mingle with polite society. We can't afford to allow them to flock to Voldemort by default."

Dumbledore tugged at his beard. "Wise words, Alastor. What would you propose?"

"Simple. These types won't go for pretty words—ours or Voldemort's. They trust power, and right now, Voldemort's looking a lot more promising. If we want to change that, we have to show that Voldemort's side isn't necessarily the winning side."

Murmurs of discontent passed between the softer of the Order. Sirius knew the type. They talked a big game, but balked at the cold practicality needed to wage war effectively. Frankly, he'd rather fight by the side of the unseemly figures Moody warned about. People like Violet, he realized. Damn, that could be a problem. Hadn't she made some sort of name for herself in a dueling ring? That was exactly the sort of person the Death Eaters looked to for recruitment. He hadn't mentioned the Order to her in their correspondence or Voldemort's return, hoping to keep her out of it, but what if he had just failed to warn her of what was out there? He resolved to send a letter as soon as the meeting ended, fully preparing her for what was out there. She was hardly an average teenager, after all, and could make her decision for herself.

Moody was talking again. "—keeping an eye out. We don't even have to make an explicit counteroffer, just put the seeds of doubt in their minds with our presence. Would help if I had a few more people I could put on it, though, especially with Podmore out of it."

"I daresay you will find no shortage of volunteers here, Alastor," Dumbledore said.

Moody sneered, casting an unimpressed look across the room. "Let me rephrase that. I need competent operatives, not civilians playing dress-up."

The room erupted in outrage once more. Sirius sighed. This really was not how he preferred to spend a Friday night.

~#~

Violet's foot tapped out a staccato rhythm on the floor. She was tense, though not because of the coming duel. It would be her last and, quite possibly, the last to be fought in Ivan's ring entirely. The man had been noticeably cagey when he explained what he had arranged for her final duel, and she suspected he would be joining the ever growing list of witches and wizards fleeing for greener pastures, like rats from a sinking ship. It wouldn't be long before she would have to join them. Valentina Frost was starting to wear out her welcome, and she had always intended to reclaim her real name eventually.

Of course, now she had an explanation to just why they were so worried. Sirius's letter had been a shock, to say the least. The Dark Lord Voldemort was back from the dead and apparently fully intending to pick up where he left off in his subjugation of Britain. It was staggering news. The image of Voldemort's corpse had been well publicized in the weeks following his fall, the Ministry seeking to solidify their fragile power base. At the same time, the image of dark robes soaked in blood and pale flesh frozen to ice had contributed in no small part to the mythos of Violet Potter, the baby the Wizarding world believed responsible for the death of the darkest wizard of the modern age.

But he wasn't dead anymore, was he? Somehow, he had shed his mortality, the defining characteristic of humanity. A cold chill ran through Violet at the thought. Death was inevitable, eternal, even to the ageless fae. To defeat it was magic beyond anything she had yet encountered, the morbid culmination of a decades long path to power stained in the blood of countless innocents. And now, like a specter of doom, her knowledge of his return hung heavily in her thoughts. He would seek her out, she knew; he would not countenance the survival of anyone who had hurt him so grievously.

But, she had time still. For all of Sirius' paranoia that Death Eaters would be stalking her every move, she hadn't seen any signs of direct action, yet. For now, she could focus on finishing her short but unforgettable career as a duelist. Her wand shuddered in her hand. Ivan had managed to convince an old champion from before the war—the first war, now—to come back for one last match. Even with that kind of attraction, Violet could tell by the muffled noise through the heavy curtain that the crowd was smaller than usual.

She heard Ivan mention her assumed name and rose, walking through the curtain and spinning her wand in her hand. The familiar applause of the crowd washed over her, but she had eyes only for her opponent. Middle aged, with a short graying beard and a slim stature, he looked totally at ease, as if he had last dueled yesterday, not over a decade ago. Violet wasn't sure how effective Ivan's marketing ploy would be, as most of the crowd didn't seem to recognize the former champion, but she wasn't about to allow herself any complacency. There was no way she would be ending her career as Valentina Frost on a defeat.

As they eyed each other, Violet concentrated Winter magic in her wand, and when Ivan stepped into the shielded partition, she unleashed a Blasting Curse, bright orange crisscrossed with fractal lines of blue.

It collided with her opponent's hastily raised shield with a cacophonous roar, scattering patches of ice and fire across the floor. He staggered, eyeing her with a new respect, before retaliating with a furious stream of magic.

They exchanged spells for several minutes. He was one of the more difficult opponents she had fought in the ring, but it was clear that years of peace had dulled his skill. She allowed a Cutting Curse to strike her left arm, instead lashing out with a powerful Banishing Charm that he was unable to block in time. The pulse of magic hurled him against the back of of the stage, his wand rolling to the side, and the crowd roared once more. Victorious, again.

Ivan was talking to her, but she wasn't really paying attention. He had a tendency to speak a lot of words without actually saying anything. But apparently he wanted one last private word with her, and seeing as they had made each other a substantial amount of gold over the past year, that seemed like the least she could do.

He led her to a private room as Violet wrapped a cloth around her cut arm and closed the door behind them. When she saw the interior of the room, she felt a jolt of adrenaline far greater than anything she had experienced during the duel. She really should have taken Sirius' warning more seriously.

There was a small round table in the center of the room with three chairs. Two were occupied by a witch and wizard in fine black robes and an ornate silver mask covering the top half of his face. She recognized the woman as a Renée Malfoy, a halfblood offshoot of the French branch of the well known family. The woman was a notorious mercenary and had been rumored to have been hired by the Dark Lord during the last war. If she was here, there was no mistaking what was happening. The man smiled broadly at her and indicated for her to take the remaining chair, but Violet made no move to accept.

"Care to explain, Ivan?" she said, voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice shaky and more heavily accented than usual. "Refusing them wasn't an option."

"Accepting them wasn't an option either, friend."

"Please, forgive Ivan," the man said. "We were quite insistent, after all." His voice was warm and cultured, the picture of pureblood mannerisms. Compared to him, the mercenary seemed positively uncouth, though her sharp martial bearing had an elegant beauty of its own. She wore sleeveless and plunging robes that flaunted the faint scars covering her skin, mementos of a lifetime of violence.

"I see," said Violet, drawing her wand. The man didn't react, but Malfoy shot to her feet, her own wand flying to her hand. Ivan made a nervous sound, pressing himself into a corner of the room.

"Miss Valentina, please," said the man, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I fear there has been some misunderstanding. We mean you no harm."

"Of course," said Violet. "That's why you've locked the door. I can recognize a hard sell when I see one."

He frowned. "And what, Miss Valentina, do you believe we are selling?"

Violet laughed. "A question of my own, I think. How exactly did your Lord cheat Death?"

The man's genial expression vanished instantly. "Oh dear. I had hoped for a pleasant conversation, but it seems you are far more informed than you ought to be. You'll understand that we can't risk you spreading that knowledge."

Violet smiled tightly. "How do you know I haven't already?"

He chuckled. "Because you would not have been foolish enough to enter this room if you had. Now," he said, leaning forward, "I suppose we may as well get on to business. Our Lord has been most impressed by your performance and has extended the honor of an invitation into his ranks. Your prodigious skill would afford you an opportunity to take your place in his Inner Circle."

Violet stared without speaking for several long moments. "And if I refuse?"

He shrugged gently. "We will need some assurance of your silence, of course."

"I see." She eyed the two, assessing them. Malfoy was infamous for her skill with a wand and would be a dangerous opponent on her own, but the man's presence compounded the situation. She had no idea how good he was, but it would be foolish to underestimate any follower of the Dark Lord. Additionally, she could still feel a stinging pain in her arm from the earlier Cutting Curse. Perhaps it would be best to seek a nonviolent resolution to the situation.

Suddenly, her analysis was interrupted by the door exploding into a cloud of shrapnel.

~#~

Tonks was trying her very best not to admit that she was excited. Unfortunately, the crowd's energy was infectious, and no amount of reminding herself that she was here on an important mission would totally suppress the anticipation of watching a good duel.

She was far from the first Auror to secretly watch the occasional underground duel. It wasn't a career for anyone who didn't enjoy a good fight, and she suspected that the real reason rings like this were allowed to operate was that more than a few high ranking Aurors attended them on a regular basis. Hell, rumor had it that Scrimgeour had even competed in his younger years. She fully believed it, too. Even among Aurors, Scrimgeour was unusually bloodthirsty, even to the point of frequently taking to the field against protocol after his promotion to Head Auror.

So, yes, she was looking forward to the coming spectacle, but that didn't mean she was inattentive. Rule one of undercover infiltration was to fake as little as possible. Anyone legitimately attending one of these duels would be bloodthirsty as hell, so it only helped her fit in better. She was currently disguised as a steely eyed brunette somewhere in her mid forties, who the Order had paid handsomely for the privilege of using her face and invitation.

All that aside, she couldn't forget the real reason she was here. The bloody Death Eaters were recruiting every witch or wizard who knew how to wave a wand, right under the Ministry's overlarge nose. Bloody Fudge. At least the Order was doing what they could to interfere, skirmishing with the servants of You-Know-Who in the shadowed corners of the Wizarding world, both sides doing their best to avoid Ministry attention.

This particular assignment was Mad-Eye's brainchild. He was convinced that the Death Eaters were recruiting from the illegal duelists, and she had been tasked with attending this duel to keep an eye out for dark activity. It would be best if she could stop the recruitment entirely, but even reporting a new Death Eater was better than nothing. Their anonymity had always been one of their most dangerous weapons.

The first duelist was on stage now, an old champion according to the irritatingly energetic officiator. He looked quite capable, with the posture of an experienced fighter. He was quite fit, too, in an older-guy sort of way. Normally, she would assume he would be the target of any recruitment, but according to overheard discussion of the crowd, his opponent was some sort of up-and-comer who had never lost a fight. Tonks snorted. Rumors were one thing, but going undefeated in dozens of duels was the sort of deed reserved for the likes of Dumbledore and You-Know-Who.

Then the prodigy herself took the stage, and Tonks raised an eyebrow. She was introduced as a "Valentina," though there was about as much a chance of water running uphill as that being her real name. The real surprise was how young she looked. Seventeen, maybe, but certainly no older. Faint scars curling across her face suggested that perhaps her record was not quite so impeccable as the crowd believed. She was pretty, too, in a sharp sort of way. Tonks had always had a thing for scars.

Then the duel began. Valentina cast her first spell, and Tonks was suddenly under no illusions as to who would win this duel. It was some sort of modified Blasting Curse, its mighty detonation sending a freezing shockwave through the crowd, powerful enough to make Tonks take a step back. Her opponent coped well, retaliating with a series of curses that Tonks herself would have found difficult to deal with, but Valentina blocked them with apparent ease.

If the Death Eaters got their hands on this woman, it would be very bad indeed.

The duel continued for several minutes, but Tonks could tell that Valentina was never truly challenged, never really fighting. It ended suddenly, Valentina accepting an inconsequential blow to land a finisher of her own. Tonks found herself caught up in the excitement, clapping enthusiastically.

Wait—where the hell did she go? Fuck!

The officiator was leading Valentina away. He practically oozed suspiciousness, and if anyone had been born a Death Eater collaborator, it was him. Quickly, she began forcing her way through the crowd, trying to keep them in her line of sight.

She managed to nail the bloke with a nonverbal tracking charm, following them through a series of corridors to a locked room. She prodded it with her wand. It was well warded, silenced, and locked much more thoroughly than an Alohomora could handle.

Fuck.

This was stupid, she knew. Barging into who knows how many hostile wands without any backup—Mad-Eye would have hexed her for even considering it. She should have pulled back and called for reinforcements, but by that time it would be too late, she knew. And damnit, the girl was barely more than a kid. There was no way she'd be leaving her alone, locked in a room full of sharks.

Sorry, Mad-Eye. Malleus!

Her overpowered Bludgeoning Hex shattered the door, spraying the interior of the room with splinters. Quickly, she assessed the situation—the duel organizer was cowering in a corner while three figures stood around a circular table, one of them Valentina.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the only face she recognized. Renée Malfoy, legendary specter of Europe, was facing her, halfway through a terrifyingly familiar incantation. For the first time, Tonks seriously considered the possibility that she might die today.

"—da Kedavra!"

She dove to the floor, rolling underneath the deathly green, spinning her wand. The chairs sprung to life, limbs elongating and sharpening before springing for Malfoy. The male Death Eater flicked his wand, dispelling her Animation Charm without even a word. Tonks barely managed to deflect an Organ Rupturing curse from Malfoy, desperately trying to regain her feet. This was very, very bad.

Thankfully, Valentina chose that moment to make herself useful. There was a flash of blue light, bright enough to disorient both Tonks and the Death Eaters. When it faded she saw that Malfoy's partner had raised a powerful shield around the two of them. The table and floor around them had been frozen solid.

Reducto! Stupefy! Percutio!

To her shock, her spells bounced harmlessly off the shield without even cracking it. That was certainly no Protego. Unfortunately, the Piercing Hex came right back at her, and she had to dive to the ground for the second time.

Valentina actually took the chance to shoot Tonks a contemptuous look—cheeky chit—before slashing her wand through the air in a jagged motion. "Avada Kedavra!"

Tonks inhaled sharply as the room was once more cast in shades of green. The two Death Eaters dove away from each other, the Killing Curse passing through their shield like it wasn't there. The man hurled a bright red curse at her while Malfoy engaged Valentina in a blistering exchange of curses.

"Protego!" she gasped, rolling behind the frozen table as she climbed back to her feet. The table exploded under a Blasting Curse, and she winced as a chunk of wood slammed into her shin. The Death Eater strode forward, wand spinning in smooth, elegant motions as he hurled curse after curse at her. She still had no idea who he was, even with his mask covering only part of his face.

"Andromeda's get?" he asked without hesitating for a moment in his spell-casting, voice level and even enough for a formal affair. Her concentration on her disguise must have failed at some point during the fight.

"Fuck you," she managed, breathing heavily. Protego! Diffindo!

He hissed softly as her Cutting Charm slipped by his guard, drawing a line of blood across his face. "Such insolence," he murmured. "Crucio!"

Cursing, she jumped awkwardly to the side to avoid the Unforgivable, taking a Bone Breaker to the ribs in the process. Pain erupted in her side, and she retaliated with a column of flame that bought her a few moments of breathing room. She took the opportunity to look to the fight between Valentina and Malfoy, steeling herself to intervene if necessary.

It didn't take her long to determine that no, she would not be interfering and that, of the two, she had gotten the far easier opponent. He was good—extremely good, at least as skilled as her, but there was a reason Renée Malfoy had lasted decades in a profession where the average lifespan was typically measured in months.

If she had thought that Valentina wasn't really trying earlier, it was now confirmed. She leapt to and fro, clutching a dagger in her off hand, ever seeking to close the distance to her opponent. She moved faster and more deftly than should have been possible, wand a blur as curse after curse sped toward her enemy. But Malfoy was keeping up. Although she couldn't match the younger witches impossible speed and grace, she was using some sort of magic to teleport about the room, contemptuously ignoring the wards that were fixing the rest of them in place. Tonks had never even heard of such magic.

Then the male Death Eaters strode through the flames that licked impotently at him, wand raised, and Tonks could once more think of naught but survival.

It felt like sparring with Mad-Eye, if Mad-Eye slung lethal dark magic like they were Disarming Charms. The stabbing pain in her side was only growing, slowing her movements. Grimly, she fought on. If nothing else, there was no way Valentina would be joining the Death Eaters after this.

~#~

"Acescere!" cast Violet, a crackling green bolt splashing against her enemy's quickly conjured shield. A few drops managed to splash through, where they sizzled against her robes. As predicted, Malfoy was quite possibly the most dangerous enemy she had ever faced. Cold, precise, and with an extensive command of obscure dark magic, she fought with unrelenting ferocity. Still, Violet was confident. She had already managed to strike the mercenary with her dagger twice, once a graze across the arm, the other a more serious thrust under the ribs. In return, Violet had only received a number of bruises and graces from partially deflected spells.

"Avada Kedavra!" cried Malfoy.

Blue light flared, and a great shaft of ice erupted from the floor, pulverizing the wooden planking. As Malfoy's Killing Curse shattered the ice, Violet retaliated with one of her own. Malfoy teleported aside, shield falling as she did, and she was unable to recover as Violet transfigured the shards of ice still suspended midair into steel darts, then banished them.

Malfoy shrieked as the projectiles struck her, one carving a bloody track just under her eye. But Violet's fierce satisfaction was cut short as a crackling Cruciatus Curse seared toward her from the other Death Eater. She barely avoided the curse, looking over. What the hell was her 'partner' doing? Really, who forces a fight then can't even keep up their end of the bargain?

Violet got her answer. The now pink-haired woman was on her knees, both hands clutching her stomach. Blood soaked her clothes, seeping through her fingers. Violet winced. That looked like an Entrail-Expelling Curse, though likely at least partially blocked.

On the plus side, the male Death Eater's right hand was twisted and bloody. He'd been forced to switch his wand to his left. Hopefully that would slow him down somewhat because Violet would need every advantage she could get against the two of them.

There was a brief lull in the fighting as the remaining three combatants took a moment to gather themselves. The male Death Eater conjured a cloth, wrapping his mangled arm into a sling. Malfoy plucked out the most irritating of the darts. Violet simply stood, eerily still, forcing as much Winter magic through her body as possible, beginning the process of healing her minor injuries and enhancing her reflexes even further. She noted with some amusement that Ivan had been hit by a stray curse that had caved his skull in. He was lucky; she would have done worse to him if he had survived.

"So," she said, "do you any of you know who the fuck that is?" She gestured to the fallen witch.

Malfoy gave a strangled laugh. "She's not with you? Honestly?" she said with a very faint French accent.

"Never met her before. Poor timing, huh?"

The male Death Eater chuckled as well. "Truly, an inconvenient misunderstanding. You fight like one of us, you know. This does not have to end in further bloodshed."

Violet shook her head slowly. "I disagree. She understands," she said, nodding toward Malfoy, who grinned bloodily.

"That's right. I wouldn't let us go if I were in your place either," she said, then laughed. "You know, Valentina, I think I would have quite liked you if we had met under different circumstances."

"Probably. But I'll enjoy this too." Violet exchanged a nod with Malfoy, who had raised her wand once again.

The male Death Eater sighed. "Merlin, the two of you are worse than Bellatrix. Very well." He swirled his wand, and his voice boomed out, "Omni Vorans!"

Immediately, Violet's wand flashed. "Avada Kedavra!" The Killing Curse forced Malfoy to teleport away, interrupting her spell, but the other Death Eater's curse was just taking effect. A dark cloud spat from his wand, splitting into a swarm of shadowy insects that he directed toward her with a flick.

Incendio!

She hurled a ball of fire two meters in diameter at the swarm, but they passed through unharmed. She cursed. The spell was totally unrecognizable to her, and the insects seemed mostly incorporeal, smudges of darkness slowly soaring toward her. She would have to find a counter quickly if she didn't want to become bug food.

Finite Incantatem! Lumos Maxima!

Neither spell was effective, and she had to sprint away before the swarm could descend upon her, deflecting curses from Malfoy all the while. The Death Eater laughed, his deep voice mocking.

Violet felt anger building in her chest. So he thought he could use esoteric magic against her? Let's see how he liked a spell of her own creation.

Dissoluti Lux!

A deep golden light shone from her wand, washing over the swarm of insect shaped darkness. To her delight, they faded away to nothing under the light. Then she swung the light over, washing over the Death Eater.

He made a soft sound of irritation at her counter to his spell. "Protego," he spat.

Violet grinned as the light passed through his shield, unaffected. He wasn't the only one with spells that couldn't be easily countered. A moment later, he started screaming as his flesh began to melt and slough away under the light, steam rising from his burning skin. Violet carefully kept the beam of light on him as he collapsed, thrashing as great patches of skin and underlying tissue slipped from his body. The curse was the product of months of experimentation as Violet painstakingly developed the spell. It wasn't quite finished either—eventually she would like to widen the beam, but this was turning out to be an excellent proof of concept.

"Merde! Peredo! Confringo! Viscera Expulso!" Malfoy, seeing her ally's agony, launched a volley of spells at Violet, but she simply raised a shield with Winter magic while maintaining her curse. She was eventually forced to lift the curse to respond to Malfoy's attacks, but it was far too late for the Death Eater lying on the ground. His robes had dissolved, and the flesh beneath had melted away, smeared and burnt. He still lived, barely.

"Avada Kedavra." Malfoy killed her own ally, ending his suffering. She gave Violet a calculating look, one hand pressed to the bleeding wound where Violet had stabbed her earlier. "You are even more skilled than we expected. As much as I would like to determine which of us really is the better, I have to put my mission first. The Dark Lord will be very interested in you, I think."

"You're not going anywhere," Violet said. Malfoy had never teleported more than a few meters with her spell that somehow bypassed the wards, and Violet was more than confident in her ability to keep up.

"Oh?" With a mocking smile, Malfoy thrust her wand up toward the ceiling. "Inpulsa!"

A brilliant point of white light drifted from her wand, streaking toward the high ceiling. Violet suddenly had a very, very bad feeling. She quickly stepped over to the witch who had interrupted them, still lying in a pool of blood and began flicking her wand through an intricate pattern.

"Inviolatus!"

Violet breathed a sigh of relief as the almost opaque shield sprung up around her and the other witch. That particular shield was incredibly difficult to cast, requiring extremely precise wand movements to cast and total concentration to maintain, but it was all but unbreakable by anything other than the Killing Curse.

The point of light struck the ceiling, and there was a massive flare of light that lingered for several seconds. A deafening ringing filled the room, enough to make Violet shake on her feet even through her shield. Malfoy had raised a shield too, though likely not so powerful of one, and wasn't looking too good herself even though she was slightly farther away from the burst.

As the ringing continued, Violet watched as the entire room began to take on a sort of resonance, vibrating slightly at an incredible frequency. She stumbled, falling against the side of her shield.

Cracks shot through the floor and walls. Then the solid wood began to shatter and dissolve, chunks of wood exploding into splinters, then dissolving to nothing. Still, the awful ringing continued. Violet's shield was starting to vibrate as well. The wreckage of the table at the center of the room had seemingly melted, resulting in a truly bizarre material describable only as liquid wood. Malfoy locked eyes with Violet, grinning wildly as they each tried desperately to maintain their shields. Violet then realized what she was trying to do. This spell—whatever it was—was introducing some sort of malignant resonance in any nearby object. Such a resonance would inevitably also put staggering pressure on wards of any kind. It was a desperate ploy, but it might just work.

Malfoy's shield, a lesser spell than Violet's, failed. The mercenary let out a scream as the resonance reached her, immediately rupturing her eyes. Her skin began to dissolve away before Violet's eyes. A moment later, there was a deafening crash as the wards finally failed.

Despite her blindness, Malfoy spun in place, Disapparating. Violet hissed. She couldn't mimic her without lowering the shield, something she was loathe to do after seeing what happened to Malfoy. Hopefully the spell would expire soon.

The ringing continued unabated, white light flaring where the ceiling had once been.

A crack shot through her shield, and Violet gritted her teeth, every scrap of concentration dedicated to maintaining the protection.

Finally, mercifully, the spell ceased, the light and ringing vanishing simultaneously. Violet tentatively lowered her shield, then sagged in exhaustion. Astoundingly, she had no serious injuries after the ordeal, though she couldn't say the same for the witch who had sparked the conflict. Violet nudged her delicately. "You going to live?"

She groaned, opening her mouth as if trying to say something. Violet leaned closer. "What?"

She started to speak, then trailed off. Finally, she seemed to muster up the strength to say something. "Fuck me."

Violet laughed. "Maybe later."

The pink-haired witch laughed, then seemed to regret it as she winced in pain. "Organ Expeller," she gasped. "Got half my guts on the outside. Mad-Eye's a fuckin' liar. Said it didn't hurt that bad."

Violet snorted. "You believed that?"

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly known for an abundance of sense." She groaned, taking several seconds before managing to continue. "Like today, for instance."

"Yes, that was impressively stupid. What exactly was your plan?"

"Thought you were in trouble," she said. "'M an Auror."

"Really?" Violet asked skeptically. "Don't you normally work in pairs?"

"Like I said," she said between gasps of pain, "not my finest moment."

"I see," said Violet, eyeing the partially disemboweled Auror. "Look, I'm not exactly thrilled with your little stunt, but I'm not enough of a bitch to leave you to bleed out. You want me to Apparate you to St. Mungo's or something?"

"No!" she said, surprisingly vehemently. "Not Mungo's."

Violet squinted. She was starting to seriously doubt that this was actually an Auror. Why the hell wouldn't she want to go to St. Mungo's if she were? That sort of behavior was typically reserved for criminals and other ne'er-do-wells.

"Fine. Where, then? Or would you prefer I leave you?"

"Please don't," she gasped. "Mum…"

Violet rolled her eyes. Really, a little disembowelment and she was crying for her mother? She thought Aurors were made of sterner stuff.

"She's a healer," she elaborated.

Fair enough, then. "Fine," Violet said, staring into the witch's eyes. "Think very clearly of your destination. If I get splinched because you can't concentrate properly, I'm going to try to figure out that awesome insect curse on you."

She gave a ragged laugh but seemed to catch on, projecting a clear image of a sizeable house surrounded by scenic countryside. Violet called on her Winter magic, which would hopefully be less stressful on the injured Auror than conventional Apparition.

They materialized in a swirl of snow a few dozen meters from the house. A few windows were lit, so someone was presumably awake. The Auror took one look at the scene, then went limp, barely conscious. Sighing, Violet lifted her into an unceremonious bridal carry. Her robes were pretty much a lost cause already, so what was a little organ blood on top of burns, rips, and tears?

She carried her up to the door, noting the cool sensation of anti-Apparition wards. Even that was more protection than most people bothered with. The Auror's head lolled against her shoulder as she rapped heavily on the door. Frankly, she felt quite ridiculous. What if the Auror had thought of the wrong house? That would be highly awkward. Several long minutes passed with no one answering the door. She could still hear the Auror's ragged breaths, so at least she hadn't died yet. That would probably be even more awkward.

Sorry ma'am, your daughter bled out because you took too long to answer the door. My condolences?

She snorted. She was many things, but no one would describe her as empathetic or comforting. She was just starting to debate the merits of experimenting with various unlocking spells—such as the Reductor Curse—when the door finally opened, revealing a distinctly attractive witch in a distinctly translucent night robe. She had light brown hair and the sharp, statuesque features common among British purebloods.

Her eyes widened as they took in the sight of her daughter slumped in Violet's arms. "Nymphadora?" she shrieked, voice rising towards the end of the name.

Nymphadora? Really?

Nymphadora twitched, shaken from her stupor. "Hey, mum," she mumbled.

The witch paled perceptibly at the weakness in Nymphadora's voice. "Bring her in," she said shakily. "We'll floo to St. Mungo's."

"Believe me, I'd love to," said Violet. "But your daughter seemed to think that was a bad idea."

The witch froze. "Damn it, Nymphadora, I told you this business would be the death of you!" she exploded. Her fevered gaze landed on Violet. "What was the curse?"

"Entrail-Expulsion," Violet said. "But I think it might have been partially blocked."

Without a word, she summoned a leather satchel filled with potions, moving very quickly indeed. "Put her down! It doesn't matter where."

The next few moments were utter chaos as Violet lay Nymphadora down on a white couch that would definitely be unsalvageable after tonight. Her mother mixed potions and cast diagnostic charms, and even her purposeful, professional movements could not conceal the depth of terror she was obviously feeling. Violet noticed a tall blond man, presumably Nymphadora's father, watching through a doorway, expression grim, but he didn't seem to want to get in the way.

Finally, the Healer rose, looking even paler than Nymphadora, who was now sleeping fitfully on the couch, a bloody bandage wrapped around her stomach. "She's stable," she said hoarsely. "She'll be all right." It sounded like she was trying to convince herself of it more than Violet. "If it had been a few minutes more…" She looked over Violet. "Are you hurt as well?"

"Hmm? No, it's not my blood, Madame…" That didn't seem to reassure her.

"Tonks. But call me Andromeda." She sighed heavily and gave Violet a pointed look. "Is Nymphadora's little club recruiting directly from Hogwarts now?"

Violet raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. I hadn't met your daughter before today."

"But then…" Andromeda trailed off. "What happened?"

"It would seem that she has a bit of a hero complex. Thought I was in trouble and got involved without any thought to her own safety." She smiled wryly. "In the end, that was what set off the fight." A thought occurred to her. Hadn't Sirius mentioned some sort of clandestine group opposing Voldemort?

Violet cleared her throat. "This might sound like an odd question, but does your daughter's 'little club' happen to be the Organization of the Flaming Peacock?"

Andromeda looked very confused. "I think you mean Order of the Phoenix."

Violet frowned. "No, I'm pretty sure it was—wait. Bloody Sirius."

Andromeda laughed genuinely, despite the dark mood. "That does sound like something my cousin would do. How did you meet him?"

"Helped him with a little rat problem."

Andromeda nodded, rising to her feet. "Who… who was it? Nymphadora would never tell me. She never tells me anything related to the accursed Order." She shook her head, looking very tired. "This has always been my worst fear. Ever since she became an Auror."

"There were two of them," Violet said. "I didn't recognize the man, and he was the one who cursed her. But the other was Renée Malfoy."

Andromeda cursed vehemently. "Circe, it's like the last war never ended. When devils like her walk free…" She reached out to Violet, resting one hand on her shoulder. "I cannot thank you enough for what you did. If there is anything you need, anything at all, let me know."

"I will let you know if there is. But for now, I must leave. The Death Eaters knew their name, and it won't take them long to track down where I'm living, if they haven't yet. Besides," Violet said with a meaningful glance toward the doorway where Andromeda's husband still stood vigil, "I think you'll need some time alone."

"Be safe," Andromeda whispered. "You're far too young to be involved in this."

"One can only be safe when their enemies are dead."

Andromeda gave a sad smile. "My sister used to say something similar. I can't say it worked out well for her."

"Then perhaps she chose the wrong enemies." Violet turned away, walking to the door.

"Wait," said Andromeda. "What is your name? Who saved my daughter?"

Violet turned back one last time, then shrugged. "I'm sure it'll come out some day. Until then, fare well."